


losing everything is what saves you

by akelios



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Cages, Castration, Come Marking, Conditioning, Facials, Gaslighting, Glory Hole, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Behavior, Rope Bondage, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: “I am going to offer my guests many entertainments tonight. You will be one of them.”
Relationships: Multiple/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	losing everything is what saves you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Light that Burns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649070) by [forestgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen). 



> Extra warnings:
> 
> The castration is referenced but not shown, but honestly I'm looking forward to writing that one. Apparently October is going to be rough for Tim.
> 
> There is also talk of ancient in universe religious practices that include human sacrifice. No one gets sacrificed, though the fear of it and the gaslighting does give Tim some dark thoughts.
> 
> And now, rambling notes! 
> 
> I get the great delight of beta-ing for forestgreen, and that means that sometimes, when they write a magical AU slavery fic with Slade/Apollo/Midnighter/Jason, when I'm done goggling at the gorgeousness of it all, the part of my brain that just chants 'Ra's/Tim' all day long perks up and goes, 'But what is happening to Tim, in this terrible world? How is Ra's being a monster now.' 
> 
> And then you all have to suffer. 
> 
> Or at least Tim does. 
> 
> This fic is evil, I have no regrets. My apologies for my one track mind though. Some day I will be nice to Tim. Today is not that day.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to forestgreen for turning around and beta-ing for me. Additional thanks for letting me play in this particular sandbox. It's evil, and I love you for it.
> 
> All remaining mistakes are mine.

Ra’s moves through the chaos of last minute preparations that his home has descended into with a smile and a few words here and there. The slaves and servants know what they’re about, for the most part, and leave him to himself. 

He lingers longest in the garden, motioning Ubu aside so that he can examine the cage personally. Tightly woven lattice, covered in delicately painted scenes of ancient gods debauching their believers. Ra’s trails his fingers over one of his favorite images, a god of the underworld being worshipped by a dozen slender youths, their faces rendered in expressions of fearful arousal. 

One of the rags is working around the cage, placing cushions within and leaving a tray covered with other accoutrements on a table placed close to the cage. Ra’s picks over the offerings, pleased with the picture he is painting in his mind. 

With a small request to the rag for a few more items he steps out of the garden, through heavy doors that will be locked just a little later in the evening and into the private rooms of the estate. The study is empty, as is the small room off to the side of his bedchambers. Ra’s moves through the chamber and out into a small private garden. 

“Timothy.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Here, so far from the bustle of the main house and surrounded by four high, thick walls, there is silence except for the murmur of the birds settling down for the night and the splashing of a slender hand in the water of the pond. 

Timothy doesn’t startle, Ra’s hadn’t been trying to keep his approach silent, but he does hesitate before rising from his seat beside the pond. He pads barefooted over to Ra’s, the scroll he was reading held in one hand, eyes flitting up and around, checking for anyone else following Ra’s. He doesn’t look directly at Ra’s until he’s within arms reach. 

“Master.” Timothy’s voice is rough, worn down from the night before. He is finally starting to settle into the house, into his rightful place as Ra’s’ gem. 

Ra’s smiles and reaches out to take the scroll from his loose grip. Hands now empty, Timothy turns to fiddling with the hem of his tunic, long fingers rubbing over the texture of the embroidery there. The movement tugs the hem up, giving Ra’s glimpses of the tops of pale thighs, the trailing edges of bruises that Ra’s could fit his hands to if he desired. Timothy has belted the tunic wrong, again, letting the thin fabric billow out loosely from his body. 

Ra’s will have to break him of the habit. 

Eventually.

For now, it turns the outfit into more of a tease, hiding him until he moves without thinking and then there is the press of a rosy, taut nipple against the fabric before he shifts and the delight is hidden again. 

Ra’s glances down at the scroll, a mathematical treatise, and turns back into the house to return it to the study. The boy follows at an obedient distance, the hesitant counting of how many paces a gem should trail their master lost to weeks of use and training. Timothy remains quiet until Ra’s turns to face him in the doorway of the study. 

“Master, do you want-” Timothy stops himself, one slow blink before he tries again. “Master, would it please you if I readied you for the party?”

“Not this time, I have a task for you. Come with me.”

They move back through the house and into the large garden quickly, with Timothy’s soft footsteps echoing Ra’s own more assured movements. The other slaves have cleared out, leaving the room a silent jungle of carefully cultivated plants from the far reaches of the empire. The last rays of afternoon sunlight and the warm flickers of the torches cast deepening shadows around the room. Timothy hesitates at the door, eyes taking in the room before he steps in. 

Ra’s doesn’t motion for him, doesn’t give him a look. Timothy knows where his place is, and he will come to it on his own. 

He knows the consequences if he doesn’t. 

Quick steps bring the gem to Ra’s’ side and he slides an approving hand across the boy's shoulders, lingering to caress the soft edge of his jaw. He can feel the muscles tensing there as the gem follows Ra’s gaze to the cage in front of them. 

“I am going to offer my guests many entertainments tonight. You will be one of them.” 

Ra’s knows that the flinch is coming, and has his hand positioned at the back of Timothy’s neck for when it does. He wraps long fingers around the vulnerable nape and squeezes just tightly enough to anchor the boy to the spot. 

“Lord- _Master_. Lord Wayne will be in attendance.”

“I am not given to breaking my oaths. I swore that I would not reveal your true nature to those who once thought you an equal, and I will not.” He digs his fingers into the sides of Timothy’s throat, watching the flesh dimple beneath the force. “I do not need my gem to remind me of my responsibilities.”

“No, Master.” Timothy’s eyes are down, focused on the smooth white of the tile flooring. They don’t move until Timothy brings his eyes back up, facing the cage once more. “How shall I please you?”

“That is the only question that matters, Timothy. Remember it.” Ra’s releases his grip and reaches down to finger the loose belt around the boy's hips before dipping his hand up beneath the short skirt of the tunic. He finds the soft flesh of Timothy’s sex blindly, enjoying the sensation of the limp cock resting in his hand before moving his fingers back to trail across the sensitive skin surrounding the long scar of Timothy’s castration. Timothy shivers, but the weight of his cock against the inside of Ra’s wrist remains the same, soft and unresponsive. 

Ra’s smiles and trails his fingers back over the soft flesh, letting it slide out of his palm with a last soft caress. He takes Timothy’s chin in his other hand and turns the gem to face him, smiling as the young man meets his eyes in spite of the flush of shame coloring his cheeks. Ra’s indulges himself, settling one hand over the curve of Timothy’s thigh, covering the mark he had left the night before. 

“Show me.” Ra’s gives the bruise beneath his hand a quick squeeze before letting go, pressing his hand to his chest. He can feel the warmth of Timothy’s flesh still thrumming through his palm. 

Timothy turns, shoulders hunching as he takes hold of the hem of his tunic and leans forward, baring the bruised tops of his thighs and the unmarred perfection of his ass. The boy spreads his legs enough that Ra’s can see the soft, vulnerable length of him between his thighs. Ra’s reaches for him, palms cupping the creamy skin as he spreads the gems ass, gracing the tight pucker there with one finger. It slides in, eased by the oil there. 

Ra’s draws his fingers down, dragging a line of the oil across the neat, red scar where the boy's balls had been. The men had done clean work, before their deaths. Timothy flinches, but doesn’t protest except for a quick gasp of breath that Ra’s knows he has tried to suppress. 

“You are such a delight.” Ra’s releases Timothy to reach for the latch in the side of the cage, allowing the door to swing open. He slides his fingers, still damp with oil through the boy's hair and tugs, pulling Timothy to stand up straight. Then he pushes Timothy around the side of the cage, closer to the table. 

The cuffs he secures around Timothy’s wrists and ankles are soft, lined leather, dyed the dark green Ra’s favors. They make the gem's pale skin glow against their darkness. Ra’s catches Timothy staring at the table out of the corner of his eye, lips pinched between his teeth to keep from saying anything. 

“Here, you see?” Ra’s holds up the phallus from the tray, dark wood worked and smoothed until it shone. He presses the phallus into Timothy’s hands, letting him feel the cool length in his palms. It is long and slender, carved with careful, precise bulges along its length until near the flared base. Ra’s takes up the small bottle of oil and uncaps it, releasing the warm spiced aroma he favors. “Oil it well.” 

The setting sun paints even the deep recesses of the garden in flares of golden light as Timothy pours oil into his palm and begins to rub the phallus with it, slender fingers playing along each curve and rib, concern flicking across his face when he wraps his hand around the largest of the bulges. Small, in comparison to Ra’s own cock, but certainly thicker than any of the toys Ra’s has asked the boy to take so far. A mercy, given how long Timothy’s night is going to be.

“Very good, gem. Kneel.” Ra’s takes the oil slick phallus and rests his free hand on Timothy’s shoulder. He watches the blue of the boy's eyes darken, absorbing his words. “Some day, I am going to fill you with this and have you kneel at my side all day.” Timothy takes a deep breath before slowly dropping to his knees, hands fisted on the tops of his thighs. 

Ra’s follows him down, moving his hand to the back of the boy's head and pushes, forcing him down further until his forehead is resting against the tile. Timothy shifts with a growing grace, moving his hands to either side of his head to help steady himself. The position bows his back and Ra’s indulges in the image for a moment before he parts the boys cheeks, touching the tip of the phallus to Timothy’s hole. It clenches reflexively. 

There is no one to see the grin creasing Ra’s face as he pushes forward in spite of the resistance, petting his gem with his free hand, back and forth across the bow of his back, bunching the thin tunic up further and further as he does so. Timothy keeps his silence for the first few inches, determined to be what he thinks is a good gem. 

Ra’s twists the phallus as he goes, judging by the inches still left in his hand and the trembling of the body beneath him. The twist brings the largest bump up to Timothy’s entrance. He starts to shake his head ‘no’, but before he can break, Ra’s pauses, reaching to his side for the oil. 

Timothy breathes easier, perhaps even thinking Ra’s has changed his mind. The oil dribbling down the cleft of his ass is warm, but the boy still startles, pulling away. Some of the phallus slides back out and Timothy freezes, instinct warring with intellect. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled, lips pressed to the tiles as he drops even lower, raising his ass for Ra’s. 

“You were doing well, gem. Don’t move again.” Ra’s doesn’t wait for an answer, fingers dipping into the stretched entrance before him, pressing deeper and pulling the boy open for the toy. Timothy groans as Ra’s fills him again, until they are back to the large bump and Ra’s is still stretching him, fingers massaging more and more of the oil into his entrance. 

Ra’s presses forward, slow and inescapable, and Timothy’s groans become words muffled by his own flesh as he shifts and fights himself.

They stop, bulge halfway inside of Timothy, his rim stretched red and hungry. Ra’s reaches up, fingers slick with the oil and yanks Timothy’s arm out of his mouth. There are teeth marks in the arm that Ra’s twists up and behind the boy’s back, forcing him off balance. Timothy turns his head to the side on the tile, eyes wide and staring back up at Ra’s. 

“Do not presume, gem.” 

Timothy gasps, trying to find words, and Ra’s shoves the phallus deeper, forcing the last several inches in too fast for comfort. 

“Ra’s! Master!” Timothy’s voice breaks, high and afraid. Ra’s doesn’t move, smiles down at the shivering young man and lets him settle. He keeps his hand on the base of the phallus, holding a steady pressure, his other hand pinning the flexing wrist to the small of Timothy’s back.

“You’re beautiful, Timothy. So good. I know you try so hard, and you please me, do not doubt it.” 

Gasps wind down to smaller and smaller breaths, until Timothy is hardly moving beneath his grip, eyes squeezed shut against the world. 

“Master, master it hurts.” Timothy opens his eyes and meets Ra’s gaze, lips pale.

“Does it?” Ra’s twists the phallus and the gasp that falls from Timothy’s lips is a mix of discomfort and the faintest echo of surprise. “It doesn’t seem as though it does.” Ra’s releases his hold on the phallus and Timothy and rises to his feet, taking up the cup of wine on the table. 

“Sit up. A bit of wine will help.” 

Timothy pushes himself shakily to his hands and knees, biting his lips and failing to contain the whimpers of pain at each shift of the phallus inside of him. The hesitation before he pushes himself back to a sitting position is almost long enough for Ra’s to reach down and force him to obey, but the boy is beautifully determined to be _good_. He is shaking, a few tears trailing down his cheeks by the time he is seated, heels pressing against the globes of his ass, but he does sit.

Ra’s hands him the cup and watches as he drinks the deep red liquid in careful, polite sips. There’s a twist to Timothy’s lips, after the first few sips, the wine perhaps not entirely equal to hiding the faint bitterness of the drug within. 

“My guests will be here soon. You have taken too much of my time, Timothy. Do you need my help to finish?” Ra’s reaches down and barely touches the base of the glass, meaning to tip it forward, but Timothy tilts the glass back and gulps it all in a few swallows. When he pulls the cup from his lips Timothy is faintly flushed, though whether from the sudden heat of the wine hitting his stomach or from embarrassment at behavior he had been trained out of as a child is impossible to tell. 

A few drops of wine have escaped and trail down the front of Timothy’s neck, staining his tunic. Ra’s runs one finger down the trail of wine slick skin before he takes the cup from Timothy and sets it back on the table.

Timothy ducks his head and waits. 

“Sloppy. Luckily, no one will see you. Get in the cage.” Ra’s doesn’t move, doesn’t press at the gem in any way. Timothy drops back to his hands and knees and crawls the few feet to the cage door, hesitating only for a moment as he reaches it, eyes flicking over it and into the shadowed depths. He crawls in, ass rising and falling with each movement and Ra’s holds a gentle, pleased smile on his face as he watches. Once Timothy is within, Ra’s takes hold of the length of rope from the tray and then crouches just outside the door. He gives Timothy little time to adjust to the shadowy interior before he begins to move the gem into position.

“Kneel there, on the pillows. Hands behind your back.”

Timothy is a quick learner, and Ra’s has given him good incentive to learn the proper postures he expects from his gem. The boy settles his hands into the small of his back, each hand grasping the opposite wrist. Timothy does hesitate to get his legs into proper position, and Ra’s says nothing. He merely takes hold of the boy's cuffed wrists and winds the rope through the rings set into the cuffs, wrapping both limbs tightly until Timothy could not possibly separate them. 

Ra’s taps one long finger on Timothy’s shoulder and gives the boy a second. Timothy does make an effort, widening his bent legs and bringing his heels closer together beneath his ass. It is close to being correct, and if Ra’s were a more inept master, he might have let it pass. As it is, he sighs heavily and takes hold of Timothy’s far ankle, jerking it into place while keeping the gem steady with a hand on his shoulder. Ra’s digs his fingers in the muscle there, hard enough that there will be bruises by morning. 

Timothy whines at the pain, but it is almost lost to the gasp as Ra’s jerks his other leg into position and then binds arms to legs, shortening the rope until the phallus is pinned into place inside of Timothy by his heels. Ra’s takes in the shivering gem, struggling to get himself into something like a comfortable position without moving around too much. Each shift presses against the phallus, pumping it shallowly within Timothy’s body.

Ra’s stands and closes the door of the cage, setting the hidden lock. He moves to the front of the cage and finds the hole, hidden in the detailed rendering of a fruiting tree as a large knot in the trunk. He inserts two fingers, quickly feeling around to make sure that nothing has splintered, that the soft lining of the hole is still in place. 

Once he is satisfied none of his guests will cut themselves in their pleasure, he slides his fingers in deeper, parting the thin curtains that line the inside of the cage in order to better hide the gem within in case any of his guests grow more curious than wise.

“My guests will expect the finest of entertainment. Can I trust that you will be able to service them properly, should they choose to honor you with their attention?”

There is a puff of warm breath over Ra’s’ fingers, and then the soft heat of Timothy’s mouth pressing a kiss to them, his tongue flicking out in quick, tantalizing licks. Ra’s allows Timothy to keep at it, his own pulse picking up, thrilling along with the attention that Timothy showers him with.

“Very good.” Ra’s smirks as he drags his fingers from the cavern of Timothy’s mouth with a wet pop. “Do not embarrass me.”

“No, master.”

^^^^^

For a long time, there is nothing but shadowy darkness and the sound of his own breathing echoing back inside the cage. He has no way to judge how much time has passed except for the dull throbbing of his ass around the phallus Ra’s left inside of him and the growing ache of his limbs. 

The position isn’t _uncomfortable_ , but nor is it comfortable exactly. It could be worse, Tim knows. Ra’s has given him cushions and shadows to hide in. He knows that there are other gems in the household, scattered throughout the public rooms to be exhibited and admired. Used, if it pleases Ra’s. Tim shudders at the thought, bound on his knees and waiting in the torch light, the lords and ladies that he had grown up with finally knowing why he had been such a disappointment, a failed investment that his parents could not honorably dispose of. 

The cage, or perhaps it’s just Tim, grows warm as the minutes slip by. Beads of sweat form and break, running down the line of his back in thin, tickling rivulets. He tries not to shift too much, but the sweat tickles and itches in places and he cannot find any relief from the sensation. Every flex of his arms forces his legs to move, shifting and pressing the phallus deeper within him until his breathing is beginning to drift into a harsh, hitching gasp. 

Voices reach Tim, eventually, the deep rumble of his master’s voice and another, steady but lacking the strength of Ra’s words.

Sound is lightly muffled from inside his cage, and it takes Tim a moment to recognize the man speaking with Lord Ra’s - with his master. Lord Machin is young, not much older than Timothy himself, but newly ascended to power at his father’s passing. They had shared some of the same tutors, and a love of escaping said tutors to better entertain themselves when the lessons drifted into territories they had no love for.

“I do not think that we should speak of the abolitionists, Lord Ra’s. After all, tonight is a night of celebration, remembering the old gods. Why should we ruin it with thoughts of fools who will be crushed soon enough? They killed all those poor slaves they tried to free. There's no way to counter a good binding. Everyone knows it.”

Tim offers a silent prayer for the slaves. He wonders if any of them had had mind left enough to know that they were being murdered in the name of freedom. He hopes that none of them had. 

“As you say, Lord Machin. However, that position may not be shared by all in attendance. I merely wished you to be prepared. I know how important the training of shields was to your late father. He was ever a proponent of a strong defense.” Ra’s voice is like a comforting hand, pressing gently along the curve of Tim’s shoulders. Tim smiles in the darkness, knowing well the weight of having all of Ra’s attention on you for any length of time. 

“You have always been a friend to my family, Lord. I will take your advice to heart.”

“That is all I can ask for.” Pleasure curls through Ra’s tone. “Now, I would like to show you something before the others make their way here. A treasure of my household.” Footsteps move closer and Timothy takes a quiet breath, leaning forward to get closer to the hole. The ropes pull at his wrists, and Tim uses the pressure as a reminder that he will not allow himself to disappoint his master. 

“It is exquisite, Lord Ra’s. Though you know that I am a patron of the more modern arts. Sculpture captures so much more of the grace of a gem in submission, a shield spilling his life for his master. I even have several pieces that pay homage to the simple beauty of a rag in their labors. Though I must admit that whoever painted this was a master of their craft.”

“Indeed, they were. Sculpture, I agree, is a marvel of the arts. However, it is somewhat less functional than this particular piece in some ways. If you would care to…” Tim can imagine the look Ra’s is giving Lord Machin, the small twist of a hand gesturing to the front of the cage. 

He feels the faint breeze through the curtains lining the inside of the cage as Machin moves closer, and the quick laugh of delight when he must spot the hidden opening in the woodwork on the other side. 

“Oh, I see. That is clever.”

Fingers slip in through the hole, cautiously probing. 

Tim closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. 

_Do not shame your master._

He leans forward and licks along the fingers, the taste of ink and paper curling over his tongue. Lord Machin makes a surprised yelp that he attempts to disguise as a laugh and pulls his fingers back. 

“Lovely manners.” Lord Machin’s voice is lower, pleased. Tim smiles in the darkness and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long, muffled movements outside the cage and then many of the faint specks of light that make their way into his cage are blocked out and a long, pale cock slides through the hole. 

Tim takes the half-hard length into his mouth and suckles for a second, pressing the flat of his tongue against the head and breathing in the faint perfume over freshly washed skin. He pulls back, letting some of the cock slide out between his lips and focuses on the head, flicking the tip of his tongue over it, tracing the lines of veins just behind the mushroom flare of it. Tim lets it rest just on his lips and puffs a warm breath of air over the slick organ. It twitches against his mouth before he swallows the length once more, the cock heavier on his tongue now, grown thicker during the moments he had to play with it. 

Machin mutters something from outside the cage but Tim can’t make it out. Heat prickles along his skin, more sweat breaking and curling down his chest beneath the tunic as he ministers to the lord in front of him, eyes wide in the semi-dark to try and judge his progress. Machin’s cock is solid in his mouth, but even grown fully hard as the young lord is, he doesn’t stretch Tim’s lips the way Ra’s does, doesn’t press so deep that Tim fears he will choke and shame himself in front of his master. 

Tim tongues the slit of Machin’s cock and is rewarded with a burst of salty fluid that coats his tongue and the back of his throat. He follows the ridges and veins of the cock and listens to the muffled sounds of pleasure coming from Machin as he finds a sensitive spot right behind the head of his cock. Tim swallows as much of the length before him as he can reach, the tip of his nose brushing against the curtains in front of him as he closes his lips around Lord Machin and moans.

Machin's cock twitches and something thumps on the outside of the cage; a hand looking for balance? Tim pulls back, leaves the head resting on his tongue and begins to suckle at just the tip. Machin lets Tim do what he wants, cannot do anything else, really, and a part of Tim’s mind supplies the tug of fingers in his hair, deeply tan skin swimming in front of his eyes as Ra’s, as his _master_ , teaches Tim how to please him. 

Tim shivers, a low thrum of heat igniting in his chest and suckles harder before swallowing Machin down one more time. 

Machin grunts, wordless and deep, and pushes forward in a short, sharp thrust. It’s fast, faster than Ra’s has ever been satisfied, but Lord Machin is spilling inside Timothy’s mouth. Thick, warm fluid floods Tim’s mouth and he works to hold it all, fighting back the reflex to swallow and breathe easier. Lord Machin is done soon enough, cock going soft and slipping out from between Tim’s lips. 

It leaves a trail of come that slides down Tim’s chin, dripping down the front of his throat. 

Machin’s come is a warm, faintly salty mess in Tim’s mouth and he starts to spit it out, habit and distaste almost stronger than common sense until Tim realizes that there is nowhere to spit. He’s not in the garden where he might be allowed to share Lord Ra’s’ seed with the plants growing there, if Ra’s is in a generous mood. And there is no cup of cool wine to wash away the taste coating his mouth.

“I do…” Machin’s voice has a soft tremor to it that fades quickly enough. “I do see your point, my Lord Ra’s.” 

Tim’s mind ticks through his options, which are none, as he listens to Machin catch his breath and presumably put himself back to rights. His head swims, senses filled with the scent of the seed still held in his mouth before he swallows, mouth dropping open to drag in fresh, untainted air as quickly as he can. 

Only it’s not untainted, every breath tastes of Lord Machin’s release. 

“It does make one think, you know.” 

“Does it? Are you considering investing in more painted art yourself? Or perhaps a new gem? A household cannot be said to be complete without a well trained gem to help ease a lord’s burdens.” Ra’s has mastered the art of feigning interest in details that could not be further beneath him. Tim wonders how no one else can see the mockery his master occasionally makes of them to their faces.

Other voices drift into the room, a low murmur beneath the clear tones of Lord Machin and Lord Ra’s, an unintelligible tangle that gradually moves closer and louder.

“Ha! Who isn’t always on the lookout for a new gem to add to their collection? But no, no. I was thinking of a statue, a living statue of a gem. The cool perfection of marble beneath your hands while you’re buried in the heat of a gem. Perhaps the most sublime moment of anyone’s life.” 

“Seems a waste of a good gem to me.” Lady Isley. Tim inhales and imagines he can smell the warm soil of her gardens even now.

“No, no, just some magic. A small spell, temporary of course. A shell of marble, holding the gem in place. It would not harm them.” Machin’s voice is excited now, rushing through his words. Hard to tell if it’s all the joy of a new project or fear of Lady Isley’s anger. “It is not my area, but I think I know some mages who could assist and then. An exhibition, I think. If you will excuse me, Lord, Lady.”

Murmurs of agreement and then Machin is gone. Tim shifts back onto his heels and cannot contain the gasp as he sits, the phallus had slid a bit while he was serving Lord Machin and the rush of his own weight forcing it back into his body is an unexpected torture. Lady Isley laughs and there is the scrape of her nails against the outside of the cage. Tim closes his eyes and fights to get his breathing under control, even as the phallus hits the spot within him that sends sparks up his spine. 

“I fear this delight is not made for the Ladies of your acquaintance, Lord Ra’s. How crass that we cannot all share in this gem's talents. Lord Machin certainly seemed inspired.”

“My Lady, Lord Machin is perhaps a bit young, to be so taken with such a simple service. I am afraid that this particular gem is rather untried.” Tim flinches at the tone, tries to curl into himself and is stopped by the bonds holding him in position. “I have no doubt that it will be nothing but a credit to me, once it is better polished. However, I did not wish to place it out where it might...fail to live up to its potential. Such things can break a gem, in the hands of a less careful master. Still, I am pleased that Lord Machin found it to be satisfactory, or course. 

“For tastes such as yours, my Lady, I have something set up in the east garden. I do hope that you find it pleasing.”

“Always such smooth manners.” Gentle laughter and then soft but sure footsteps moving away. 

“Continue to see to my guests, gem.” 

“Master…” Tim forces the word out, just loud enough to be heard, but Ra’s is already gone, leaving Tim to the shadows and the thrumming pulse of his own heart beating in his ears. 

The next Lord who comes to the cage doesn’t even bother sliding fingers in first, simply shoving his cock in through the hole and expecting Tim - expecting the gem - to be ready for him. 

Tim hopes that he doesn’t disappoint, though this lord’s cock is short and thick and Tim cannot get a good rhythm going. The lord growls when he comes, a heavy splash of hot come that floods Tim’s mouth too fast for him to keep up. He swallows what he can, and the lord laughs as he does. The man must know what he is doing to his gems if he comes like this all the time. More of the lord’s release spills out from Tim’s lips, running down the front of his throat, spattering down his tunic and splashing into his own lap. 

The hot slide of the lord’s come running over Tim’s own limp cock where the hem of the tunic has ridden up makes his stomach go tight. Tim curses softly to himself, eyeing the shadow painted shame of his cock with disgust. 

He’s not a lord. He never was. Tim should be grateful that it was Ra’s who had found him, who had discovered the truth.

_”A gem takes pleasure in being of use to their Lord, Timothy. Do you think a true lord would enjoy being debased like this?”_ Tim shakes his head and tries to settle back into position, skin prickling from the memory of Ra’s holding Tim’s mouth on his cock, long after his Lord had gone soft. Shields and household rags had gone in and out of the study that day, conversations floating around Tim’s head as he fought the desire to push against the hand at the back of his head. 

And when he had failed to resist the urge, Ra’s had been swift in his correction. He had also drawn an orgasm out of him. His entire body pulsing with desire, even as his cock remained limp. That insistent thrum of pleasure with no outlet all that Tim can seem to manage since his kidnappers ruined him.

Now, with every cock that slides through the front of the cage, with every release that fills Tim’s mouth, more and more spilling out from between lips gone slack with the ache of his jaw, Tim hears _gem_ thundering through his veins. He loses himself in the task his master has set him to, pleasing lords who choose to use him. 

And they do choose him, over and over, until he has lost count and all sense of time. 

Sweat and come stick his tunic to skin, and Tim is nothing but heat and _need_ without any way to let it out. The steady press of the phallus in his ass has finally been met by his half-risen cock, useless, covered with the release of his master’s guests.

His mouth is dry, despite all the come he's been forced to swallow, and he manages a rough thank you to the first lord who chooses to spill wine over his cock before allowing Tim to pleasure him. The wine is cool on his lips, soothing some of the ache in his throat. The next several lords must have seen merit in the idea, in the thought of the hidden gem lapping wine off of their cocks like a helpless kitten, because they follow suit, and by the time they have moved on to other entertainments Tim’s head is swimming. 

He can’t rest though, not with the next lord waiting. Tim’s mouth aches with emptiness until he swallows his next cock and then the next. He is nothing but a hole to be used. The next lord fucks his mouth, muttering promises of gifts and tenderness as he comes into Tim’s open mouth. The come rolls down his chin, and Tim is too tired to make an effort to catch any of it.

The lord leaves and Tim is ready for the next, but there is no one filling him and he blinks, some small part of him wondering where they are. There has been a line of lords, one after the other for so long that it doesn’t seem right that there is no one left. 

He drops back to his heels, a sharp cry wrenched from his throat as he is reminded of the phallus buried deep inside of him. His thighs tremble from having to hold him up for so long. Tim leans against the side of the cage and lets himself drift, eyes half open to wait for his purpose to begin again. 

He hears Lord Ra’s voice drift through the rooms in a haze, blinking away sweat and forcing himself to straighten and lean forward once more. Tim expects his master’s cock to be the next one that he tastes, and he whimpers at the thought, jaw aching and tired. 

“I know that you are a connoisseur of such things, and I would value your opinion.” A low rumble of amusement answers Ra’s, but Tim’s mind can’t shape words out of it, can’t understand the feeling of dread that curls through him before dissipating under the anticipation as a large shadow blocks out the light from the front of the cage. 

The cock that Tim is presented with is heavy, broad and long, nearly of a size with his master’s own sex. Tears carve tracks through the mess of sweat and come on Tim’s cheeks as he rises and leans into position, stretching already exhausted muscles to take the lord’s cock in as deeply as he can. 

He manages maybe half, and Tim knows that the whine of pain he cannot keep down vibrates through the lord’s cock as he suckles at it, playing with the tip of his tongue along the broad curve of the head, drawing the cock deeper into his mouth until it is butting against the back of his throat. Tim moves back, working the length with lips and tongue, wishing that his hands were free, or at least in front of him to try and please the lord better. 

But this is the way that his master wants him, this is how he is meant to serve, and so he does his best. He does. He tries. The lord is grunting before too long, breath exploding out in pleasure. Tim is swallowing down the first pulsing gift of release from him, pleased in spite of his exhaustion, when a voice cuts through the haze. 

“My Lord, the litter is ready.” 

No. 

“One moment, Dick.” His voice, familiar down to Tim’s bones. It doesn’t matter that Tim stops, that he pulls away as if he’s been burned, exhaustion making him sway as he bites down on a scream. 

_NO._

The haze of comfort and bone deep knowledge that he has finally found his place, that all is finally right in Tim’s world burns away, contentment turning sour in his gut. 

Lord Wayne, _Bruce_ , is still coming, gouts of come spilling from his cock and striping across Tim’s face even as he shuts his eyes, trying to block out the sight, the knowledge of what he has done. He struggles to shut his mouth, but it _hurts_ and he can’t quite manage it, so more of Bruce’s seed coats his tongue. It covers his face. It sticks in his hair, the heat of it burning across his throat and chest. 

His cock twitches under the onslaught as Bruce's hot come splashes over Timothy’s lewd sex. Blood joins the salty come and sweat staining his mouth. It drips down his chin as he bites through his bottom lip to keep from crying out. 

Tim curls forward as far as he can when it's over, burying his face in the cushions lining the floor. Bruce withdraws after a last few drops of come, hot splashes against the back of Tim’s neck. His arms burn, shoulders aching at the strain as he tries to hide from his own sight and the knowledge that he is still hard, still _wanting_. He sucked Bruce's cock and took pleasure from it, like some depraved thing. Like a _gem_.

“Huh.” There’s sound from the front of the cage and the curtains shift above Timothy’s bowed head. A sudden flush of light pierces the darkness as broad fingers probe at the curtains through the hole, baring part of the cage to the light. “That’s a neat trick, Ra’s. I don’t even see the gem. Oh, oh, there it is. I think I broke it.”

Tim curls more tightly into himself, the cuffs harsh against his wrists as he tries to will himself to vanish. 

“I should hope not, Wayne. I paid good money for that particular gem.” Ra’s must move between Bruce and the cage for the light disappears.

“Mmmm.” Tim can imagine the look on Bruce’s face, amused and wide eyed. “You may want to get some of that gold back from the seller, Ra’s. It was...loose. I’ve had better service from rags on the edges of the empire.” Tim pulls harder at his cuffs, savors the pain of the edges digging into his arms. 

He wants to disappear. He _should_ just stop _existing_. Even as a gem he can’t please Bruce. How could he have ever thought to be a lord? To honor his parents’ memories? To honor Bruce’s house?

“I do not doubt that you’ve tried all variety of...entertainments in your travels. Some hear stories of places where they still prefer wild beasts to the company of a well trained gem.” 

Bruce makes a sound that is probably a laugh.

“I don’t mean to insult you, Ra’s, not at all. I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of, in your advanced age. And after all, things are different in your home country. I value your presence here among us too much to let you fall prey to an unsavory character.”

“Of course. And as you say, the customs of my childhood are very different from the empire. For example, have you seen anything like this before?” A thump of Ra’s hand on the outside of the cage. “In my homeland they are common, a part of a ritual that goes back to before the times of my forefathers. In ancient times, they worshipped the old gods, and the old gods were not as merciful as our gods today.”

“Even the ancient gods of our lands were bloodthirsty, or so I was taught. Several of my tutors delighted in terrorizing me with tales of human sacrifices thrown from cliffs or disemboweled to guess the will of the gods.” Bruce’s tone has slid away from amused, closer to the man he is behind closed doors. Tim shudders and twists his fingers around the rope, tighter and tighter, grounding himself to the present.

“Indeed. On the darkest day of the year, the forefathers of my forefathers would take a youth of one of the highest families and place them in a cage such as this. They did not have gems, you understand, and a slave would have been too lowly of a sacrifice to the gods they wished to appease. The youth would spend the entire day in the cage, serving any who came to them, as my gem has done this evening. 

“They fasted for days before the great sacrifice so that when they went to the gods they were full of the seed of their people and nothing else. We believe that the elders drugged them, or so we hope. After all…”

“Lord Ra’s, I don’t-”

“After all had been serviced, and the night was at its darkest, you see, the youth was given to the gods, to carry their peoples’ adoration and fear to them and to beg for their mercy.”

“How? How did they…” 

Tim doesn’t know this voice, or can’t place it through the thudding of his heart and the terror that has stolen through his limbs as his master speaks.

“Fire, or course.” Ra’s voice is close, almost whispering inside of Tim’s ears, or so it seems. He can’t breathe, can’t move. “They would pile wood and pour oil on the cage and then, with prayers and other offerings to the gods, set it alight. The youth died with honor, and their name was entered into the prayers of the dead, elevated and worshipped forever as eternal servants to the gods and intercessors for their people.”

Someone gasps, and there is a rising tide of voices around the cage, mixing together into meaninglessness. 

Tim is burning from the inside, heat cutting into his stomach, where it sits heavy with the seed of every lord at the party. He gasps for air and tastes smoke.

Part of Tim is screaming, fear racing through his body and paralyzing his mind. He can’t think of anything but flames curling up around him, embracing him from all sides until Tim is nothing but kindling, his wish to be free, to simply _cease_ finally fulfilled. 

It...might be good, to finally be useful.

To be valued for the one thing that he could possibly offer. 

After all, he was a false lord, a failed gem. 

Perhaps the gods, old or new, would look on his obedience and finally smile on him.

Still. 

Tim doesn’t….he doesn’t know if he wants that, yet. Not yet. 

He knows he can be good, that he can be useful to his master. 

Tim just needs to be given one more chance. 

He _will_ be a good gem, if only Ra’s will allow him. If Ra’s will extend his mercy one last time.

^^^

“Lord Ra’s. You…” Lord Thane trails off into silence, too afraid to insult him with ignorant questions. Failing to see the insult he has already delivered by entertaining the thought in the first place. 

Ra’s smiles, hand pressed against the cage over the image of the god of the underworld and his slaves. 

“Of course, that was many generations past, and we have gods now who do not demand such a terrible sacrifice from us. The cages are still in use, as I said, but we no longer sacrifice a youth to the gods at the end of the ceremony. They still serve, and are honored, but thankfully our gods want only our devotion and are content to sup only on animal blood.”

The lords and ladies of the party smile and laugh, except for Wayne, who meets Ra’s eyes for too long with a hard stare that doesn’t match the vacuous grin pasted on his face. 

“Glad to hear you aren’t killing gems once a year, Ra’s.” Wayne glances over his shoulder at his shield, who is clearly unhappy with him. 

“Certainly not. They’re far too valuable to waste.” Ra’s smiles, tilting his head to one side as the other guests begin to leave. “If I needed a slave for a sacrifice, I would simply get one of the condemned. The ones even Lord Apollo doesn’t take into his merciful care. No one would care if I burnt one of them alive.”

Wayne’s jaw clenches and Ra’s likes to imagine that he can hear the man’s teeth grinding to dust. 

“Or, should that fail, I suppose there are always the runaways, little lordlings that slip their parents’ leashes, never to be seen again. Certainly no one would miss one of those poor souls.”

Wayne’s shield is the only reason that Ra’s is not on the floor. 

The young man has a grip on both of Wayne’s arms, struggling to contain his master’s rage as he stretches up to whisper into Wayne’s ear. 

The few guests that are left glance back at them, but they are all allies that Ra’s has cultivated. They will not interfere. Ra’s’ smile widens, baring his teeth. Well worth the risk of Wayne actually striking him. 

“Forgive us, my Lord al Ghul.” The shield speaks as Wayne turns away, shaking off the slave's firm grip. “I am afraid the disappearance of my Lord’s adopted son still weighs heavy on him.”

“Ah! Forgive me, Lord Wayne.” Ra’s calls after the man’s retreating back. His shield meets Ra’s gaze steadily, much better at containing his emotions than his master at the moment. “I had forgotten that the young lord was among the lost. Careless of me.”

“It is a family matter, my Lord al Ghul, and nothing that one such as yourself should need to be concerned with.” The shield's tone is all proper deference, but Ra’s does not doubt the slave is seething on the inside. After all, it was fellow slaves of his own household that had failed to keep Timothy safely at home.

“I do hope that the young man will be found and kept safe, even at this late date.” Ra’s presses one hand to his heart, and then to his lips, as if in prayer. 

“We continue the search and pray for the gods' favor every day.” The shield bows and turns to leave at Ra’s dismissal, following his departing master.

Ubu comes through the door moments later, bowing as he reports that the guests have all been sent on to their homes. Ra’s waits for his footsteps to fade out of hearing before he opens the cage. 

Timothy is curled into the cushions on the floor, rope twisted around fingers that have clenched so hard they seem bloodless. 

“Timothy, what have you done to yourself?” Ra’s takes hold of the gem’s shoulders and pulls him from the cage until Timothy is curled on the cool tile of the garden, eyes clenched shut against the world. He keeps his touch soft as he unwraps the rope from Timothy’s fingers, massaging them until color returns. Ra’s unties the rope from the cuffs on Timothy’s ankles, leaving only his hands bound. When Ra’s forces the cramped legs of his gem to stretch out Timothy lets loose a groan that seems torn from the depths of his being. 

Ra’s sits himself on the floor, careless of his own brilliant robes and pulls Timothy into his lap, fingers carding through his hair. It is long moments of near silence before soft sobs begin to break from Timothy’s lips. Ra’s rises himself to his feet, carefully lifting the gem into his arms and carries Timothy to the long stone table in the center of the room. It is surrounded by torches, lighting the room but keeping the flames from the plants. Timothy flinches as Ra’s brings him close to the fires. 

“Master, master, please, don’t, I’m sorry, I tried, I did, I’m _sorry_...” Timothy’s back is bowed by his arms still bound behind him as Ra’s lays him down. His voice is a rough whisper that would vanish on the wind.

Ra’s steps back to finally take a look at his gem. 

The boy is filthy, covered in the come of dozens of lords. The corners of his mouth are bruised; red and swollen lips shine out from beneath the pearlescent white of all the lords who took their pleasure from him. His foster father’s release only the crowning touch in the work of art Timothy has become. His tunic is stained, plastered to his lithe form with come that has run like melted wax. 

And his cock. 

Slender and hairless and hard as it rises from beneath the hem of his tunic, coated in the drying seed of men that would have called him their equal not long ago. 

Beautiful. Lesser lords might buy and breed their gems, but Ra’s. 

Ra’s has the power to _make_ them. To take a lord and break and mold him until nothing matters to him but Ra’s’ pleasure.

As it should be. 

“Hush, gem. You have done well. So well, look at you, my guests have painted you with their praise. You are a work of sublime beauty.” Ra’s moves quickly to remove his own belt, his robes, until he is nearly naked in the torchlight. He takes hold of Timothy’s ankles, still encased in the cuffs and pulls him down the table, until his legs dangle off of the edge. 

Ra’s pours oil into his palm and he strokes himself to the sight of his gem, crying and terrified, eyes still locked on the flames of one of the nearest torches. 

“Don’t fear the gods, Timothy.”

Ra’s takes hold of the phallus, still mostly buried in the gems ass and pulls it out slowly, oil slick fingers easing the way where he can. Timothy still tries to scream, but his voice is gone and all that comes out is a high warble that dies out quickly. 

It is only when Ra’s slips his fingers into the still stretched hole of his ass that Timothy’s focus comes down to him, pulled away from the fire. He pours more oil into the boy, spreads his fingers and then Ra’s is pressing the head of his cock to the gem’s hole, pinning the boy’s legs back to his chest, trapping the gem's cock between their stomachs as he begins to press in. 

Timothy closes his eyes, writhes in Ra’s grip and then his eyes snap back open, meeting Ra’s green gaze with unfocused blue. 

“Please, master. Please. It hurts.”

“I know.” 

Ra’s thrusts forward, burying himself to the root, until he can press up against the smooth skin where Timothy’s balls had once been. The gem gasps for air beneath him, head thrown back as he tries to pull away, his movements rocking his body back and forth beneath Ra’s, fucking himself in short thrusts on Ra’s cock.

Ra’s holds himself still as long as he can stand, letting his gem pleasure him with each shaking breath, with each attempt to save himself from the pain of being split on Ra’s cock. 

When Timothy tires himself out, slumping back to the table with a warbling cry of helplessness, that is when Ra’s begins to fuck him. He presses new bruises into the backs of Timothy’s thighs, holding his legs back, levering the slender body as he chooses, seeking his own pleasure. 

Ra’s releases one thigh at the boy's capitulation, hand finding the boy's cock and stroking it, keeping time with the hard pace that he is setting to his own release. Timothy cries out again, pleasure wiping everything else out of his face as Ra’s drags an orgasm out of the gem, the faintest spurt of come erupting from his neutered cock. Ra’s catches the thin release on his fingers and reaches up to press them into Timothy’s gasping mouth. The gem swallows reflexively, eyes distant and Ra’s wonders if he even knows where he is anymore. 

Timothy relaxes around him, by degrees, but there is still the fierce tightness of his ass for Ra’s to erupt into with a final thrust. He empties himself into his gem, hands pressing into the taut stomach beneath him as he fills the boy with come.

When he is finished Ra’s pulls himself free of the tight heat with some reluctance, but then there is the sight of his come dripping out of Timothy’s ass, spattering the edge of the table and the tile floor. 

Gorgeous.

Timothy’s eyes are open, but unfocused, staring into the flames of the torches around him. Ra’s douses them, dropping the room into a darkness broken only by the faint light of the stars. The moon, shadowed and shrouded in night, offers no help. When he puts out the last torch, Timothy’s eyes finally move back to Ra’s, where they belong.

“They will never have you, Timothy. You are mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ridiculous titles this fic had while being written:
> 
> 'Ra's figures out he can just steal Tim with magic!'
> 
> 'shit oh no is Ra's Hades and Tim Persephone?'
> 
> Aren't you all glad you wind up with word salad titles instead of the working titles?


End file.
